


Hopping Down the Bunny Trail

by spikesgirl58



Series: ABBA/Foothills [111]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23593435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: Chef has had enough and Matt is only too happy to help.  Humor is a little dark...
Series: ABBA/Foothills [111]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/21516
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Hopping Down the Bunny Trail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bonniejean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonniejean/gifts).



“I don’t believe it! He did it again!” Illya Kuryakin stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a meat cleaver.

Napoleon Solo hastily set down the plate he was holding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know these were intended for something else.”

That made Illya blink and then frown. “What? What are you talking about?”

“These pulled pork quesadilla apps.” He paused, then added, “What are you talking about?”

“That damned rabbit got into my herbs! Again!” Illya took a deep calming breath and set the cleaver back down. “Eat as many of those as you want. We made a couple thousand of them.”

“Well, if you ever catch Peter Cottontail, he’ll be well seasoned without your having to do much.” 

“Who?”

“You know, wears a little blue jacket and shoes?” Napoleon then broke into song, “Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail.

He picked his plate back up as Illya scowled at him. He grabbed a basket and headed back out.

Matt Tovay, Taste’s co-owner and alternate chef walked in, tying his apron in place. “Chef, he is a little crazy?”

“Apparently the rabbit has struck again.” Napoleon took a bite of the quesadilla and chewed slowly. “Mmm, this is seasoned perfectly.”

“ _Grazie, Cara._ The trick is to know how much spice to use.”

“Which is why you are a chef and I am an appreciative member of the dining community.” Napoleon set the plate down and wiped his mouth. “What do you think we should do about the rabbit?”

“Leave him to me. I have a way with wildlife.” Illya entered then, with a basket of herbs. He scowled at Matt and went to the sink to wash what he’d managed to save. “And with Chef, too, I think.”

Napoleon saluted him and retrieved his plate again. “Good luck, Soldier.”

Illya paused to sniff the air. He reminded Napoleon of a bloodhound trying to hone in on a scent.

“What is that?”

“A treat for you. Go and sit down in the dining room.” When it was just the two of them, they usually ate in the kitchen.

Illya smiled faintly and pushed through the swinging door into their tiny combined living and dining room. The table had been set with china, silver and crystal. Candles cast dancing shadows over the Damask napkins and tablecloth.

“You’ve really gone all out.”

“I just hope you will appreciate it,” Napoleon shouted from the kitchen.

“What are we celebrating?”

“A victory.” Napoleon carried the casserole to the table and placed it down in front of him. “ _Voila_ , Rabbit Fricassee.”

“You mean?”

“Yes, your pest is no more. Matt knew someone with a trap and he was nabbed chomping your basil.”

Illya plated first for Napoleon and then himself. The meat was fork tender and he chewed his mouthful slowly. “This is wonderful. Perfectly seasoned.”

Then Matt walked in, shouting, “ _Cara_ , what should I do with his little blue jacket and shoes?”

“You’re joking…”

“Am I?” And Napoleon started to hum softly.


End file.
